


Elements of Victory

by arobynsung



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: AU, Drama, Gen, Het, Slash, femmeslash, magical theory, pre-HBP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-04-24
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arobynsung/pseuds/arobynsung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To win this war, the leaders of the light must learn all the elements of victory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Transition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set the summer after Harry's 5th year. T

The brown haired man walked into his flat and dropped the shoulder bag he was carrying on the floor. He placed his keys on a side table near a dark blue sofa, took off his coat and sank into his favourite armchair. He breathed in deeply, and then let it out with a relieved sigh, grateful that this day was over. His students had been positively hellish today.

Refreshed, after a moment's rest, the slightly aged man pulled himself out of the cushioned chair and went into the kitchen to prepare a light dinner and soon lost himself in the familiar process. A knock came at the door just as he turned off the oven. He wiped his hands on a nearby dish towel and left the kitchen to answer the door.

He held his breath momentarily and released it slowly as he opened the door, then forced a small smile as he greeted his guest.

“Hi, Mark.”

Mark was a tall, dark haired man who looked to be in his mid thirties. His blue eyes sparkled as he presented the other man with a bunch of vibrant blue flowers.

“Evening, Remus” Mark leaned forward to plant a light kiss on the lips of the man he’d been dating for the last month.

Remus returned the kiss as he accepted the flowers. He pulled back to smell them, “Anemones, my favourites,” his smile now genuine.

Mark grinned, “Of course," he replied as if receiving one's favourite flowers were a daily occurrence, "I remembered.”

Remus moved from the doorway to let the other man into the living room. “Have a seat, make yourself comfortable,” he said pointing in the general direction of the sofa, “Watch some telly, I’ll just finish up dinner.” Without waiting for a response he went back into the kitchen.

Remus put the flowers in a vase with water and smiled as he breathed in their scent again. His smile turned wistful, almost painful, as he lightly touched the petals of one of the flowers a last time and turned to set up dinner. As he gathered plates and some cutlery, Remus thought back to when he’d met Mark.

After Sirius’ death, Remus needed to escape. He had gone to Dumbledore who suggested that maybe he should take a little time off from the Order to deal with his grief. Remus saw a chance to try and forget and since then, with a couple of magically falsified documents, he’d been living in the muggle world as a teacher at a local primary school.

Remus could still remember how his breath hitched when he first met Mark. The dark-haired man had come in for a parent-teacher meeting with his nephew Brian, who’d been giving Remus a bit of trouble. Mark had introduced himself as Brian’s uncle and apologised for the boy’s parents who were unable to make it, explaining that they had sent him in as their replacement. Remus had just smiled back, and tried not to think of the other man’s resemblance to Sirius. He still didn’t know how he managed to get through the meeting in a somewhat professional manner, considering he had to fight the urge to cry and flirt at the same time. But he must have done _something_, as Mark had called him later that night, confessing that he’d gotten the number from Brian’s parents. Since then, they’d been together almost all the time. Remus had lost himself in this new interest, steadily ignoring the growing nagging feeling in his gut telling him he was a complete fraud.

Remus sighed as he moved a covered dish of chicken fried rice into the dining area. Unfortunately, as nagging feelings go, they tend to keep nagging until one does something about them. After the last full moon - thankfully with Wolfsbane that Dumbledore had Snape send - Remus had decided to end their short-lived relationship. Mark deserved someone who was completely honest and truthful to him, someone _human_. He definitely didn’t need someone running from himself. Remus promised himself again that he would break it off tonight, during dinner; maybe after.

A pair of strong arms embraced him from behind and Remus had to force the grimace off his face. He shrugged out of the hug and circled the table placing the spoons and plates and ignoring the hurt and confused blue eyes staring at him. He sighed inwardly and lifted his head to look up at Mark.

“Sorry,” He smiled in what he hoped, was a placating manner, “I’ve had an off day. The kids were crazy today.”

Mark smiled back, but the concern lingered in his eyes, “It’s alright,” he held out his arms and Remus, reluctantly but not showing it, sank into the embrace and let himself be held, “You’ve had a rough day.” Remus felt a soft kiss placed on his hair, “I can’t imagine doing what you do and actually liking it.”

Remus chuckled dryly, “Well who says I like it?” He pulled back and gestured at the table, “Have a seat.”

The dark haired man moved to sit down and Remus went to sit across from him. “I don’t think you like it, I think you _love _it.”

Remus looked up from serving the food at the other man’s words, “I don’t see how you can make that assumption. I’m stressed most of the time, and the kids rarely give as much effort as they should. How can I possibly like that?”

Mark just smiled, “Because I’ve seen you talk about them, and I said you love it, not like it. Teaching is your calling Remus,” he reached for the sandy-haired man’s hand; “You and I both know it.”

Remus forced a smile and tried to ignore that nagging feeling again; maybe he would tell him after dinner.

-x-

The pillow over his head was not working. Neither did sleeping upside down, on his back, on his stomach, on his side; nothing worked. His only other option was to gouge his eyes out, see if that killed it. With his luck, it wouldn’t. Just a painful experience he was to relive; an eternal nightmare.

He removed the pillow from his head and flung it to the floor. He sat up and placed his feet firmly on the floor, as if to ground himself, then with a deep breath he pushed himself off the large bed and went to stand by the large window in his room. The gardens were peaceful and the fairies flitted in and out of the bushes, making it seem like little balls of lights were bouncing from flower to flower.

With a sigh the young man put a silk robe on and left his chambers. He made his way to the East Wing of the large manor house nodding to portraits of his ancestors on the way. His walk became a brisk stride as he realised he'd unconsciously gone towards his father’s study.

He stood in front of the door, his hand on the knob, but not turning it. There were no locking charms, as Lucius Malfoy didn’t really expect any of his family to intrude on his privacy. This thought caused a snort from the young man, Lucius Malfoy probably didn’t expect to be placed in Azkaban, but there he was.

He turned the knob, entering and closing the door behind him. He was immediately faced by a pair of steel grey eyes piercing down at him. He recovered himself and nodded curtly to his grandfather’s portrait. The blond looked around at the familiar surroundings; the study was decorated in variations of exotic dark woods accented with dark greens. He breathed in the light scent of rosewood as he circled his father’s large desk. He sat in the comfortable chair behind it and leaned back, placing his arms on the arm rest. Closing his eyes he tried to picture his father behind the desk - his deliberate cold and subtle movements. Draco pictured his father reading various important documents, saw Lucius at his desk plotting his way into the recesses of the Ministry and trying to rule world. The blond smirked at the thought of his father ruling the world, _doomed_ was the word that came to mind; for the world or his father, he couldn't decide.

A voice, like cold platinum, so much like his father's interrupted his musings.

“Young Draconis.” The young aristocrat opened his eyes with a start, and looked around the room. After a moment’s thought, he turned in his chair to look up at the portrait.

“Grandfather,” He replied with a respectful bow of his head.

The man in the painting nodded in response, “My son, he is still in prison?”

Draco nodded, “Yes, sir.”

The elder Malfoy shifted his gaze to a corner of the room. Draco inferred that to be the end of their conversation. He closed his eyes trying to block the thoughts of his father in Azkaban, but it seemed that his grandfather wasn’t finished.

“What are you doing about it?”

The blond opened his eyes again and turned back to the painting. “What am I doing about it?” He tilted his head, “What can I do about it? My father, Lord Malfoy, is in prison; for being a Death Eater. No,” he raised his finger to interrupt whatever his grandfather was about to say, “No. Not for being a death eater, otherwise he’d have been imprisoned long before, but for getting caught.”

Abraxas Malfoy narrowed his eyes, the only movement on his otherwise stoic face, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “What _am _I supposed to do about it?”

The older man lifted his head slightly so it appeared as if he was staring down an inferior being, “Malfoy's have a duty, an obligation to family and name.”

Draco bristled at the tone, the same his father often used to scold him for some un-Malfoyish action, “My father ...” Draco began but was cut off.

“Your father forgot. In his quest for power he forgot his upbringing, in spite of his arguments to the contrary. From what he told me of this man who fancies himself a Dark Lord,” Abraxas Malfoy spat the name, “he wasn’t serving his better interests. While he was bowing and groveling to this imbecile, the Malfoy name was losing its prestige.” His eyes narrowed again. “You will recover the name Malfoy. You will restore this family to its former dignity.”

Draco just stared at the painting. “And just how do you suppose I do that?”

Abraxas smirked, “Well you are a Malfoy, aren’t you?” Draco nodded wondering where in the world this was going. “Remember your upbringing. My son is not a fool, and he must have taught you the Malfoy way, even if he did act a fool in his decisions. Family above all else, young Malfoy.” He nodded curtly to his grandson and left the painting leaving an empty study, much like the one Draco was in now.

“Family above all else,” he repeated his grandfather’s words to himself. He breathed out lightly through his mouth, placing his hands on the varnished surfaces of the desk. He closed his eyes again and muttered the words to himself like a mantra as if clarity would come from repetition.

Surprisingly, it did.

An icy calm washed over him, he could feel it freezing all the doubt and fear he had, like a well aimed Malfoy gaze sweeping a crowd into submission. He knew what he had to do, it's a shame it took a painting to remind him.

He opened his eyes; an onlooker would say they were dead and cold, but if one knew him well they would see the mercury moving in his eyes, calculating and deliberate.

He stood up gracefully, the full weight of the Malfoy name on his shoulders and strode to the door. Before leaving he turned to the empty room. “Family above all else.” He paused, as if waiting for an affirmation from the room, but none came. He nodded at no one in particular and left his father’s study, closing the door behind him.

-

The scorching sun blazed baking his already tanned skin. He ignored the heat focusing on the softening earth as he moved through it with strong fingers, tucking the little green seedlings into their new home. His mind began to wander as the task became repetitive.

The young man thought of the past year; how much he'd grown, how much he lost. The pain was still fresh. In some ways losing his godfather was worse than being orphaned as a toddler. As much as it hurt, he had never known his parents - save from snippets he got from those who knew them, and that was all subjective and biased on their part. His godfather on the other hand, had been there for him when he could, had talked with him, laughed with him. Harry had just found him; but with all good things that happened to him, fate - currently playing the role of the batshit bastard named Voldemort - either tainted them or snatched them away.

With his godfather had gone whatever was left of his youth, with it had gone a lot of the light he once had. Harry remembered the feeling of possession by ultimate evil. Yes, he'd fought it, even weakened it, but for a moment past the pain, he almost gave in. If his friends hadn't been in danger, he'd have let it win. Let it take over; sink into the dark power, obsolete emptiness, free from humanity, pain, guilt, love.

And as he dug his fingers deeper into the warm soil, Harry wished he could meld with it completely, disappear into a brown nothingness, and kill the pain he felt with every breath. He realised what he needed to get himself out of that particular funk, he just didn't know how to get it. How did one find direction in life anyway? Do you pick up a muggle compass and head north, or do you swish your wand and perform a _Point Me_ charm on your soul?

Harry growled angrily to himself, at his pointless thoughts. He was stuck in yet another boring summer with the Dursley's and irregular polite communication from Ron and Hermione, not exactly life changing - epiphany inducing stuff, but it was his. Hoping for something greater was pointless and only served to cause more pain for what he didn't have and more for what he lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I apologise for the Gary Stu, he won't show up again, I promise.


	2. Power

The large fireplace in the Manor's receiving room lit up with green flames as a tall dark figure gracefully stepped out. Draco looked up from his reading to warmly greet the man he considered a second father.

He briefly hugged his godfather secretly relishing in the affection. He so rarely received any from his biological parents that he’d first come to treasure Severus simply for the father-like affections he showed when Draco was young. Of course since then he’d come to know him as a great listener, always ready to give advice, and the only person who’d never lied to him.

He stepped back and with a smile gestured to one of the comfortable armchairs in the room.

“Would you like a drink Severus, a good wine perhaps?” He asked, ever the mindful host — one of the few attributes he inherited from his mother — and with an affirmative response from Severus, a house-elf was summoned to serve and Draco settled across from his godfather, both with wineglasses in hand.

After about half an hour of pleasantries, Severus cut to the chase, “Draco, you obviously didn’t have me over for a chat. Otherwise you’d have waited till our regular appointment later this week when we meet for your Potions Mastery training. So what was so urgent?”

Draco kept his face blank and his mind closed, well aware of the other man’s Legilimency and Occlumency skills. “Not urgent, per say, more like necessary.” He swirled the rich red wine in his glass lightly before taking a sip, savouring its exquisite taste. “I’ve been thinking about my current state, and I must admit, I do not find satisfaction with most aspects of my life.”

Severus scoffed, “Well you are a Malfoy, you lot are never content with what you have.”

Draco sneered “Well, what I _have _is my father in Azkaban, my mother off ‘visiting’ relatives in France, and the Malfoy name in complete ruin,” he replied annoyed. “Oh, not to forget an insane Dark Lord who wants to kill me for Father’s incompetence.” The blond shrugged, “You’re absolutely right, I can’t see why I should have any form of discontent in my life right now.” He levelled a glare worthy of his father at the man across from him.

Severus didn’t react; he just drank more wine without a word or glance at his irate godson. Draco recognised this as a hint to calm down, tantrums only worked with his mother. Severus was certainly immune to such tactics.

After what seemed to be an in-depth contemplation of his crystal wineglass, Severus spoke, “So what are you going to do about it?” he asked, eyes steady on the fine crystal in his hand.

Draco shrugged, “I don’t know. I thought I did. I want the family name strong again, my father out of prison, and my mother,” he paused, “well, she can stay in France for the moment.” He finished the remaining wine in his glass, then shouted “and why do people keep asking me that?” He slammed the glass on the side-table; any harder he would have broken it, “I don’t know!! It’s unfortunate, but I am under-age, without any real power. How am I supposed to fix anything?!” He called for a house-elf who refilled his glass, Severus declined when the elf offered a refill.

“Draco, listen to what you’ve said.” He eyed the boy in front of him, “You are not a fool, so stop being foolish and you are not weak, so do not act like a bloody Hufflepuff.” The Potions Master rose from his seat and moved toward the large fireplace.

Draco watched him prepare to leave in disbelief, “Wait! What are you doing? You can’t go! I still have no idea where to start.”

Severus turned to face his godson, an uncharacteristically soft look on his face, “Yes, you do. What did you say you lack?”

“Power.” Draco responded without thought.

Severus nodded, “Then get it. May I recommend a little research?” He sighed at the boy’s lost look, “Draco, wake-up. You need to bypass the Ministry, it is based on bureaucracy and ancient laws that support its corruption. The easiest way to defeat an opponent is to use their flaws against them.”

He nodded to the young man and turned to pick floo powder from a bowl near the fireplace, “You’re father raised no fool. You’ll be fine.” He gave what could have been a small smile before turning back to the fireplace to floo out, leaving a contemplative Draco still sitting in his armchair sipping expensive wine, with ideas cropping up to form a plan.

-

Streams of sunlight disturbed him from uneasy sleep causing him to blink multiple times in annoyance before burying his face in his pillow. That particular move was abandoned once his powerful nose got a good whiff of the pillow.

He sat up with a grimace and tried to shut down his superior sense of smell, it certainly did not make his rented room an easier place to inhabit. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and remembered how he got to his current situation.

After his rash decision to quit the muggle life - that is Mark and his job - Remus returned to the Wizarding World and thanks to his half-baked plans ended up in one of the Leaky Cauldron’s worst rooms. Unfortunately it was all he could afford and his only other option was to return to Grimmauld Place. Actually, that was no option; it was in fact, out of the question. Too many memories, too much pain lay within the gloomy walls of the old Black house.

He wasn’t quite sure what had driven him to leave the muggle world completely. There, no one knew his past, or the fact that he turned into a ravenous beast every full moon; he had a job, ate regularly, and a decent place to live in. By some odd stroke of luck, he’d even had a man who cared about him. So why was he being stupid? Because of an owl from Gringotts? Should he really have taken that as a sign to help him decide where he belonged?

He stood up from the bed and opened his worn trunk, it had been with him since his first year at Hogwarts and though it looked like it was about to fall apart, it was one of the few things Remus could rely on. Remus smiled, it was probably sentient by now. He pulled out the envelope on top of his clothes and various things and re-read it.

> _To Remus Lupin:  
> Your presence is required as soon as possible at Gringotts. Please bring this letter as proof of identity and summons.  
> -Gringotts Wizarding Bank._

It was only a summons to Gringotts, probably to inform him of the dire states his accounts were in. Why in the world had he taken it as a positive sign to leave the muggle world on an impulse that in retrospect was foolish and so quintessentially Sirius?

Sirius.

A jolt of pain like lightning, stronger than any he’d allowed himself to feel caused him to double over with its magnitude. He’d refused to think about his best friend while in the muggle world. He’d surrendered not a tear which is astounding considering Mark could have been Sirius’ muggle doppelganger. Mark. Sweet kind Mark, who didn’t know what he was getting himself into. It was selfish to use someone to forget pain, and it only worked for a while.

Maybe the move out of the muggle world was for the best. He decided he’d make a run into Diagon Alley and pass by Gringotts and get whatever business they wanted over with and done.

Resolutely suppressing all other morbid thoughts, the werewolf dug for his bath towel and soap and headed for the shower. Thankfully, Tom kept the bathroom cleaner than the room. Remus was glad to freshen up for the day and he headed downstairs for a cup of hot chocolate to start his day off.

After thanking Tom for the hot chocolate and paying for it, the honey-haired man sat down at one of the small tables meant for single diners. As he sipped his drink an abandoned Daily Prophet on the table caught his eye. Setting down his cup for a moment Remus flipped through the day’s paper reading through the headlines.  
**  
—Ministry to Clean Up Fudge Sludge**

—Boy-Who-Lived-To-Tell-The-Truth

—Dark Mark Spotted Over Several Residences

—New Minister of Magic Ushered In As Dumbledore Re-Instated

—Sirius Black Cleared Of All Charges

The last headline caused a small smile on the worn face, ‘At least you made headlines like you always wanted to, Pads.’ The smile grew even as the pain in his chest did, as Remus imagined Sirius complaining, _‘I finally make positive headlines and I’m killed by a sodding curtain. Just great.’_

Remus got up after finishing his small breakfast and went outside to tap the wall and enter the hustle and bustle of the crowds in Diagon Alley. After running a few errands, Remus proceeded to Gringotts Bank. He went up to one of the multiple counters, thankful it was still early in the day and the bank wasn’t too busy yet.

A stern looking goblin glared at him. “What do you need help with, sir?”

Remus smiled politely, “I received a summons from the bank. Said it was important.”

“Do you have the summons notice with you?”

Remus nodded and reached his hands into his pockets which turned up empty. He smiled bashfully, “Sorry, I seemed to have forgotten it.”

She, at least Remus thought it was a she, glared reproachfully at him. “Very well, name?”

“Remus Lupin.”

She nodded curtly and wrote his name down on an ancient looking blank scroll. She handed him a quill pushing the end of the scroll to him, “Sign here for confirmation.”

He nodded and took the quill to sign the scroll. He felt a stream of cold magic move through his hand as he signed his name. He figured that there must be some sort of identification verification spell worked into the quill.

She took the scroll and quill back, "Proceed to the back rooms, a goblin will meet you with more information." She dismissed him with a nod.

Remus nodded politely back and turned to leave, but before he exited out of the queue he heard her call out to him, "A summons charge will be billed to your account. NEXT!"

Remus almost turned around to argue the injustice of the fee but decided against it. It's not like they'd find anything in his account. He did however comply with the instructions and went towards the rear doors of the Bank. Sure enough, as he approached an old goblin nodded to him, "Remus Lupin?" he asked in a scratchy voice.

"Yes, I am he."

The goblin turned, "Very well, I am Mr. Stonecreek," he started walking down the long hallway, "Follow me. I will be assisting you today."

Remus followed, a bit put off at his terse attitude, as he entered one of the nondescript doorways lining the hallway. It opened into a large but cluttered room, lit with sconces and floating candles. Talk about a fire hazard. There were all sorts of tomes piled up in various piles and scrolls of parchment littered the general area. Stonecreek hopped up onto his chair behind a large desk that was in as much disarray as the rest of the office. He gestured to one of the armchairs in front of him surprisingly clear of any litter.

"Please have a seat Mr. Lupin."

Remus entered the office completely and moved towards the armchair as Stonecreek looked down at a scroll he'd pulled out from the wreckage that was his desk. "Ah, there we are. You are here for the ordered individual based reading of the Last Will &amp; Testament belonging to a Lord Sirius Orion Black."

At the old goblins scratchy words, Remus froze mid-step.

He'd forgotten how to breathe.


	3. Inheritance

"MR. LUPIN!"

Remus snapped out of his shock, "Sorry, I was thrown for a while there." He sat down stiffly on the edge of the indicated armchair and shook his head slightly; maybe he should have expected this. A Will is appropriate after death after all, especially if you have extensive wealth like Sirius. In all honesty though, he hadn't expected to be included in the Will reading, Remus figured that Padfoot would have left everything to his godson, as is only right. Whichever way it still hurt like hell - the memories he'd been suppressing had been yanked out of the depths and were causing him physical pain.

"Well, let's carry on with it then." The goblin nodded after searching Remus' face for signs of possible fainting, finding none he continued, "Mr. Black requested an individual reading to each benefactor in his Will, unless read by the Key. It's a common request, the Key, and of course the Black family has always been one of our more distinguished clients." The goblin smiled greedily.

Remus frowned, "What is a Key?"

Stonecreek's features hardened into seriousness again, "A Key is a specific benefactor in a Will with an individual reading request. The Will must be read to him alone before any other benefactors gain access to the money. In the past families assigned a Key to protect a Will from contention and at the same time ensure an heir's right to the wealth. The Key has control over all contents of a Will, and is the only one allowed to contest any specifics. In this case, Mr. Lupin, that would be you."

He paused to let the information sink in. The werewolf did not seem to be taking it well.

"I don't understand," Remus said after five minutes of silence. He ran his hand through his hair in confusion, "How did Sirius even get to make up a Will, let alone request special provisions?"

"He had an authorised contact in Gringotts who forwarded information to us." Stonecreek looked through a stack of parchments before pulling one out from the bottom of the pile, "I believe it was Weasley, he's one of our curse breakers here, efficient lad." He handed the parchment to Remus, "This is your personal reading. It is an official legal document and may be used in the event of contention. When you finish reading it completely, the Will will unlock. It is requested that you read it immediately."

Remus scrutinised the parchment in his hand. It had his name on the front folded surface. His breath hitched as he traced the words, _Remus _'Moony' _John Lupin_, written in familiar handwriting. He began reading, his eyes moving slowly, committing the words to memory.

> _Hello Moony!_
> 
> _Guess the fact you're reading this means I've finally done it, pissed the gods off too much this time, didn't I? The good news is that you're still alive, right? Thank Merlin for that, not the me dead part, but the you alive part. That part's great! Bloody amazing actually considering association with me is ninety percent of the time hazardous to general health. At least that's what you told me at Hogwarts. By the way, in case you're beating yourself up about it, both James &amp; I forbid any moping. We absolutely won't have that from you, Mr. Moony!_
> 
> _This is weird, this whole Will business, but you've always yakked on and on about how I never think about the future, blah blah blah. Tuned you out after a while there, mate. So for you and Harry, I did the responsible thing, and wrote a Will. Got in contact with Bill, who helped me out covertly to get my affairs in order. What affairs you may ask my canine friend? Well listen up, and no contesting this Remus. At least not your allocations, I know you have power over it but ignore that. No contesting what I give you Moons, it being my last wish and all._
> 
> _I know you hate charity, so my last wish is that you live your life without weighing yourself down with guilt. That whole Azkaban business is behind us - mistakes made on both sides - but in true Marauder fashion, we figured it out. Spending time with you andProngslet was all a bloke could have asked for before he kicked it. That and a good shag, say hi to Hestia for me; kinky little bint that one!_
> 
> _But I digress._
> 
> _I've never been good with the "words" - you've always known - but I know you'd have wanted me to write this out personally and not just have some creepy little goblin write it out in some confusing big words, that only you would understand. I'd probably have ended up signing off my wealth to the Malfoy's or something. So basically the gist of it is, I love you. In that manly way that only I could possess. You were a brother to me. Thanks for putting up with me, even when I did all that stupid stuff that I'm still marvelling at your ability to forgive._
> 
> _Now that I'm gone, it's you I trust with Harry. Poor kid's lost so much; now me, and I need you to take over. Do what you always did for me when we were at Hogwarts, and cover me, yet again. Just in case the Ministry's taken its head out of its collective arse, I give over to you all guardianship rights of one Harry 'Prongslet' James Potter. That sounded official right? And even if the Ministry still resides up where no sun or intelligence shines, he's yours Moony. Maybe not legally, yet, but in every way that counts in life. Take good care of him, guide him, listen to him, don't lie to him. He hates that as much as I did. It killed me to find out that noone's been listening to him and telling him the truth. Seriously, Remus, be there for him, you both need each other before you brood yourselves into depression damnation._
> 
> _And for the part you'll hate and sputter indignantly at I'm sure, I'm leaving you the keys to vault #395. All yours now, mate. I set it up in your name and transferred a lovely amount in there for you - oh stop that! No contesting, remember. Anyway, in the event you refuse to accept this, I've left a separate letter filled with a guilt trip worthy of my mother and Molly Weasley combined. You don't want to know what I have planned if that doesn't work. So take the damn keys and live! If it makes you feel better, I left Harry everything else, except for some things for the Weasley's and Hermione. Kiss Molly for me, by the way. I'll miss her cooking and smothering._
> 
> _So I'm off to see James and bother Lily. I'll even look Reg up, the runt._
> 
> _Promise me you'll start smiling without crying soon, Moony. Love You!_
> 
> _Messr. Padfoot._

The last words blurred as Remus lost himself to the familiar pain, seeing the paw print sealing the end of the letter.

"Are you contesting anything?" Stonecreek asked quietly.

Remus smiled through his tears, remembering the multiple threats. "No, I might as well honor his last wish, and all."

The goblin nodded approvingly and reached for one of the scrolls to his left and ran his hand down its length to open it. Words seemed to write themselves rapidly in shimmers of dark ink on the previously blank surface.

"The Will is unlocked." Stonecreek cleared his throat, "In sound mind, Sirius Orion Black, Head of the House of Black, authorises this Last Will &amp; Testament as valid, true, and final, unless contested by the appointed Key." He raised his head to look at Remus, "Unfortunately, Lord Black's circumstances were unique and somewhat problematic. But after posthumous acquittal, legal guardianship of Mr. Harry James Potter reverted back to him as appointed godfather from the Potter's Will. Lord Black appointed you as guardian in event of his death, and while valid in Goblin Law, Wizard Law does not allow for werewolves to adopt or acquire legal guardianship status. Lord Black appointed you as trustee of all assets bequeathed to Mr. Potter until he is of legal adult age, which somewhat overrides Wizard Law. This is possible as trustees deal with finances and that is governed by Goblin Law. Other benefactors will be notified, but you will still be responsible for letting Mr. Potter know of his inheritance."

Remus seemed to be taking it all in with detached calm. Stonecreek nodded in approval, "This is for Mr. Potter," he handed Remus an envelope with Harry's name on it, "It's a letter for him from Lord Black.” Remus nodded as he put the envelope in a pocket in the folds of his robes. Stonecreek continued, "All bequeathments are effective immediately," he gave Remus a vault key, "This is the key to your vault." The old goblin hopped off his chair and walked to a crowded bookshelf by the wall. He pulled out a large heavy tome that looked worse for wear, dumping it in Remus' lap. "Those are the records of the House of Black's holdings. Investments, estates, and such. As trustee you'll need to study this and discuss them with Mr. Potter if you wish. A summary report will be sent to you every month, as per Lord Black's request."

A snap of his fingers startled Remus. The door to the office opened, appearing from the wall. Remus hadn't even noticed that they'd been sealed in the office magically. He stood up, still in a mild daze, aware but unaware of himself. He shrunk the heavy tome, and proceeded out of the office and Gringotts, apparating back to his room at the Cauldron. He dropped all the documents and the tome on the table, in a rush. He could feel the wave of pain, moving fast towards him like a tsunami. It crashed on his shores as he fell into the lumpy bed face down.

He felt he deserved a good long purging cry, for at least the next two hours.

-

“Mr. Malfoy,” the man across the desk began in an almost pleading tone, “Don’t you think you’re being too rash?”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his family’s private solicitor and instead settled on a silent scoff.

“Not really, Henry.” The young pureblood kept his face blank, “Rash would be liquidating all my wealth and heading for France, like my mother. This is not rash. This is practical. This is necessary.”

The middle-aged man sighed. The young master before him was as stubborn and apparently, learning to be just as deadly as his father before him. He understood the son’s motives but he didn’t appreciate the fact that he’d be the one to have to break it to the senior Mr. Malfoy in prison. He tried again.

“Draco, I understand, but-”

He was interrupted mid-plead.

“Do you know what I’ve been told all my life?” Draco asked casually, “What people say to me when they acknowledge me in front of my father.” He examined his nails in a show of nonchalance, “They look at me, then back at him and smile that infuriating faux-superior smile and say in their practised voices, _‘He has the potential to be great’ ‘You have some potential boy’ ‘You must be proud, Lucius; quite the potential in your young man here’_. Then they drink my father’s alcohol and leave, not yet knowing they’ve probably been robbed of their fortunes, their families, and whatever’s left of their souls.”

He dropped his hand back on the armchair and levelled a glacial glare on Dobbs, “I’m done with just being potential. A little dynamic action is in order, wouldn’t you say Henry. Now open the tome.” His voice had dropped to a poisonous tenor that broached no argument.

Henry Dobbs shuddered as a near over-powering sense of déjà vu came over him, he realised his mistake when he looked up, Malfoy, had not missed that shudder. Correction, he wasn’t learning to be like his father, he was like his father—a younger softer-edged, but still deadly version. Giving in - as if he had a choice - Dobbs opened the ancient looking tome in front of him. He did not need instructions to open specifically to the pages with the blood red silk ribbon hanging out between them. He glanced at Malfoy, whose face was carefully blank and skimmed the pages before him. His years as the Malfoy’s solicitor had taught him how to extract any and all vital information from a document in seconds. This was a direct result of the close calls the Malfoy’s found themselves in with the Ministry, and other … questionable acquaintances.

He lifted his head and frowned at the stoic blond. Without another word he pushed up from his chair and went to pour himself a drink. He offered the brandy to Draco, who refused with a polite shake of his head, and sat back down, taking a few sips of the calming drink.

He reread the short but decisive passage he identified as the most important:  
**_  
'All power over the House of Malfoi shall transfer to the Heir of Malfoi in event of Current Head Malfoi being incapacitated by sickness or extended imprisonment. Sickness includes impotence, insanity, and terminal illness.'_**

“This hasn’t been done in over a century, Draco,” Dobbs warned, “Not in any of the old Bloodlines.”

Draco smirked, the only break in his icy visage, “We Malfoys pride ourselves on being unique. “

Dobbs finished off his cognac. The brandy had been a gift from the elder Malfoy. “Very well, then. I’ll file the papers with the Liaison Department of Estates &amp; Holdings at the Ministry. After it’s approved, they’ll turn the records in to Records and send a copy to Gringotts. I assume you’ll be filing under the clause of imprisonment?”

Draco’s smirk never left his face, “Yes, and insanity.”

Dobbs nodded miserably, “I’ll add insanity to the clause. May I ask why?”

Draco nodded, his face clear again, “Yes. I believe you can agree that loyalty to a Dark Lord at risk of personal health and wealth is a clear show of insanity, especially for a Pureblood.” Dobbs just raised an eyebrow, Draco continued, “Of course that is still under contention—an _Imperius_ is suspected. That requires even swifter action.” He smiled a small deadly upturn of the lips.

Henry Dobbs suppressed the oncoming shudder. Yet again, he questioned his sanity. He still didn’t understand why he stayed in this profession, with this family. He’d had a chance to leave, when his father had died and left the practise to him, and with it, the clients. He could have just sold it and found something else to do. As a boy he’d watched his father stay up nights, wondering why he insisted on slaving away for thankless wealthy sycophants with more money than was good for them. Then he’d met the Malfoys and understood his father’s passion; in a brave move he dropped his other clients and concentrated solely on the Malfoys who’d in turn signed a lifelong contract declaring him their official representative and he in turn swore to be discreet and protect their interests. It had been a lucrative partnership, earning quite a bit for both parties involved. Lucius Malfoy had even helped him out of a delicate situation that could have ruined his family; which was why he was so reluctant to even consider the idea of quite simply screwing the elder Malfoy of his power and titles.

He sighed, “I’ll have everything arranged, done in two days with the usual discretion.”

“Oh no, Henry.” Draco’s scary smile tightened, “Don’t bother with _too much_ discretion. I want this known. I want everyone to know that I am Lord Malfoy. Have it go through silently, but the results whispered around. I want it in the Prophet, latest the day after.” He nodded curtly to Dobbs, his face blank again, and stood to leave.

Dobbs stood up politely, “Draco? A public humiliation?” he asked of the young man leaving his office. Without turning around Draco answered, “Oh yes, much like his imprisonment caused me and the Malfoy name.” He turned his head slightly, “Good day, Henry.”

“And to you, Mr. Malfoy.” Dobbs sank heavily back in his chair, running his hand through his grey hair, he knew his day was far from over, and a long ways from being good.

-

The light from the _lumos _spell flickered as its caster’s concentration finally gave in to sleep. A stack of parchment fell off the edge of the table to the floor startling the dozing werewolf. The room flooded with light as he touched his wand to reactivate the lumos spell. He rubbed his eyes sleepily bending to clean up the mess wincing as his back cracked painfully. The ex-professor stood up and stretched his muscles, cracking more bones.

For the last five hours Remus had been studying all the documents given to him by Stonecreek at Gringotts and for all his trouble he’d come to a general conclusion that Harry currently had more money than anyone should know what to do with, and that he was probably the last person equipped to be trustee.

He’d come home from the bank a wreck and after gathering himself, he’d written to Harry to check up on him. That was two days ago. Remus shivered as a wave of cold accusing guilt crashed over him. When Padfoot had died, Remus retreated into himself and out of the Wizarding World; as a result, he’d abandoned his best friend’s son. He wouldn't be surprised if Harry ignored the letter outright.

There was no way to make up for his neglect, other than one very bad idea. It was a way to try and make things right — a step in the right direction, at least toward making necessary amends. It was however, a very bad dangerous idea that just happened to be the only way Remus could think of to make sure Harry was alright.

Remus slipped into his bed and stared at the ceiling morosely, all thoughts of sleep gone. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to force the idea out of his head. It was a very bad dangerous, not to mention extremely stupid idea.

But it was all he had.

In the near future, Harry Potter was going to find himself kidnapped.


	4. Seizure

Draco looked up from his work at the popping sound. He acknowledged the house elf with a raised eyebrow.

The little elf squeaked, “Mister Dobbs is here to see Master Malfoy.”

Draco nodded, “Send him in right away,” he ordered. Tiffy popped out with a whimper, causing the young blond to roll his eyes — Malfoy house-elves had mastered the English language but still squealed like common house-elves. Seconds later a light rap on the other side of the study’s door alerted him to Dobbs’ arrival.

“Come in, Henry.” Draco greeted the man as he came in, offering him some cognac as they exchanged brief pleasantries. Soon at the end of his patience however, Draco asked, “Success?”

The question took all levity out of the solicitor’s face, “Yes, Mr. Malfoy,” he paused, “Pardon me, Lord Malfoy.”

Draco nodded, a slight smirk on his lips acknowledging his new title. He accepted the documents Dobbs passed him.

“Those are all the necessary documents you’d need. I’ve marked those that need signing. Everything went smoothly of course, not a word of protest against the shift.”

Draco’s smirk widened, “I’m sure it did. The Ministry must have had no qualms stripping the great and terrifying Lucius Malfoy of his power and handing it to his young inexperienced son,” he said while giving the documents a quick look. He nodded in thanks, “Very well, thank you Henry. You’ve been efficient as always. Arrange a meeting with my Father in Azkaban for the purpose of informing him of all that I’ve put in place. Then have another set up for me with him - on a separate day of course.”

“I already have a meeting with him scheduled tomorrow. I’ll have yours set up in less than a week; I’ll contact you with the specifics.” A few more details and Dobbs left to take care of business, and maybe drink another glass of brandy.

Draco got up as soon as the other man left to make his way to one of the sitting rooms. It was decorated in peaceful shades of blue; his mother’s doing, and was his favourite sitting room in the Manor. He found his expected guest already drinking a cup of tea while reading the day’s copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Hello Severus,” he greeted his godfather, a cheer in his voice. “Good morning, Draco” came the token response. Neither man said anything for a while as Draco poured himself some tea until Severus Snape broke the silence.

“Interesting news today—_Ministry Shaken Up, Suspected Death Eaters Arrested, _and look_, Malfoy Power Shift_.” Onyx eyes locked with mercury, “Explain.”

Draco didn’t even blink at the blatant intimidation, “I followed your advice, Uncle Severus. I got power, lots of it.”

In an uncharacteristic show of emotion Severus threw the Prophet on the table, “You stripped your father of it and publicly humiliated him. You might as well have paraded him naked through Diagon Alley!”

Draco raised an eyebrow, “Now there’s a thought. Although, I have to ask, would that be for my benefit or yours, Severus?”

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose in absolute consternation, a common occurrence where his godson was concerned, “Draco,” he began, forcibly lowering his voice to its usual velvet tenor, “I told you to get power, enough to free your father. I thought you understood.”

Draco finished his tea, placing the empty cup down on the table before speaking again. “I understood you perfectly. More than you expected I would. What I understood is that if I amassed just enough power to free Lucius, I’d lose it immediately afterwards. Not only that, but the Malfoy name would still be in the gutter and my father would have me bowing and scraping before the Dark Lord, his ugly mark marring my arm by summer’s end. We’d be worse off than before he went to prison.”

Severus released a slow breath silently, “He’s your father, Draco.”

Draco’s eyes softened, “I’m aware of that, and I’m not going to abandon him. I am however, going to free him on _my _terms and conditions, not his, not the Dark Lord’s.” His eyes became diamonds, “Speaking of demented monsters, what did the Dark Lord say about freeing my father?”

A flash of anger passed through obsidian eyes, “He’s still angry. He refuses to consider all that Lucius has done for him and expects you to take the Mark and make-up for your father’s mistake. He threatens your mother’s life, Draco.”

Draco leaned back in his seat, “Expected response. Just wanted to be sure; I wouldn’t want his plans crossing paths with mine. I’ll send protection to mother, she’ll stay in France for now.” He wanted to ask if Severus would soon need protection but he knew that his godfather could take care of himself and would take the suggestion as an insult.

Severus nodded in agreement with his godson’s plans, “And your father?”

Draco tilted his head back in his chair, “My father is annoying, but he is mine. It’s actually why I asked you here an hour early for our lessons.” He straightened himself in his seat grabbing some parchment and a quill - which had been placed there in preparation for the potion master’s visit - from the table. “I’ll need to know all the properties of the Dark Mark.”

Severus raised a dark eyebrow but complied, “Other than simple identification it is used as a locator. As you know the Dark Lord can use any Dark Mark to call some or all Death Eaters. The magic is advanced enough that he could call just one Death Eater or all of them. A result of this is that any Death Eater bearing the mark has the ability to apparate to the position of anyone else with a mark, except when barred by strong wards, like those of most family manors and Hogwarts. However, this requires a singular focus on the person being located and cannot be done at random.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he tapped his chin with his quill thoughtfully, “So you can find him, he can find you. Has anyone successfully removed it before?”

With a slight shake of the head, Severus answered, “So far, only the Dark Lord has managed to remove the Dark Mark, and only as punishment to traitors. It is a process that is fatal to the Death Eater, and of course painful. You can’t scrape it off; it will etch itself back, even on bone. Amputation of an arm with a Mark on it is also fatal.” The spy’s eyes shadowed, “No charms can cancel its magic, or any potions conceal it.”

Draco frowned, “You’ve tried all this haven’t you?”

He got his answer when the other wizard averted his eyes, “Save for amputation, yes. I was saved that fate by others who attempted it in my presence.”

Draco nodded, “In that case I’ll need your potions notes.”

Snape turned sharply back to the blond, “Draco, the potions I came up with were volatile and extremely dangerous, and I’m just talking about the brewing process.”

Draco shrugged, “I expect that, but I have an idea and I need to check your notes for anything that I’ve missed.” He made sure to point out that it was he not the potions master who may have missed something, to soften the man to his request. “My instincts tell me that the concentrated magic found in a potion is the only way to remove or destroy the Dark Mark. It seems to have the same properties as a potion; most potions require the ingestion of other potions or particular ingredients to counteract them. Charms rarely work, which explains why no concealing charms would ever work on the Mark.”

Severus nodded, “I’ll bring them tomorrow.” He cast a tempus charm, wandless. “We’re late for your lesson.” He stood up making his way to the Malfoys’ potions lab without looking to see if Draco followed. The blond chuckled at his godfather’s abruptness and followed him remembering to grab the notes he took on the Dark Mark.

-

The charred fireplace flashed green catching the attention of the old lady sitting by the window staring out into the quiet neighbourhood outside her window. She turned her head towards the fireplace smiling fondly at Lissy, a small black cat with brilliant green eyes, swiping a tiny white-tipped paw at what looked like a floating head in the now green flames.

"Leave the poor man alone, Lissy," she called to her cat, then stood to pick the young kitten up. "Hello, Remus. What can I do for you?"

The werewolf smiled up at the cat as it squirmed in its owner's arms, "Good afternoon, Arabella. May I come through?"

Arabella Figg smiled at the werewolf, "Of course." She moved back and turned to put Lissy back on the floor.

She turned back to the fireplace to find Remus brushing his worn robes down. Clucking her tongue at the dishevelled werewolf she said, "You look dreadful, dear. Here, come sit, have some tea and scones." She went to the kitchen to get the treats.

Remus chuckled, "Thank you, Arabella, but I'm afraid I don't quite have time for that today."

"Nonsense, I'll have none of it." Mrs. Figg called from her kitchen. She came back with a tray of scones and a mug filled with tea, "You look positively emaciated Remus. Sit down, " she gestured to an armchair, "Eat. I won't hear any of what you have to say to me till you finish a scone. You still drink your tea the same way?" Without waiting for an answer she added sugar and stirred handing Remus the mug and a scone.

Remus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and instead thanked Arabella and complied with her condition, finishing the offered scone. Mrs. Figg was not blind to how fast the scone disappeared and offered another, "Here dear, another,” she gestured to the remaining scones.

Remus smiled sipping his tea before putting the mug down. "No thank you, Arabella. I must speak with you most urgently."

Mrs. Figg dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand, "What could be so important? If it's Dumbledore asking about the patrols, tell him that old con Fletcher was a terrible choice, he's hardly present and is more interested in trying to rob muggles."

Remus shook his head slightly, "It's about Harry." Remus figured the direct approach was the only way to get the woman to focus on something other than trying to feed him, "How is he?"

Arabella pursed her lips, "I suppose that's important. He's been alright, as much as the poor boy could be. He hardly comes over anymore, probably wise."

Remus frowned, "Why would it be wise to stay away? I was under impression the Dursleys were not the most pleasant muggles."

"Make no mistake, they’re not the best people, but they’re alright enough, at least he's safe when he's by the house. Been some shifty characters sniffing about. May be Death Eaters, at least I think so." she paused a frown magnifying the wrinkles on her face, "Dumbledore keeps ignoring my requests to move the boy. Potter'd be better off somewhere else."

"There are Death Eaters here and Dumbledore won't move him?" Anger drew the dormant wolf in Remus out momentarily, his eyes flashing golden amber, "Why?" he growled, a cat nosing about his legs hissed and ran away.

Mrs. Figg rolled her eyes, "Oh do calm down, you old wolf. You're scaring my cats. Besides Dumbledore must have a good reason for not listening, I'm sure. Mentioned something about blood protection with the Dursleys."

Remus' anger did not dissipate; Moony could tell Mrs. Figg was trying to calm him. Even she didn't really believe in Harry's assumed safety with his muggle family. “Blood protection? From Petunia I suppose, through Lily’s blood?”

Mrs. Figg nodded gravely, “Aye, though that won’t help him a mite if he keeps taking all those walks at odd hours. I’ve been trailing him, seems to keep the odd fellows at bay, but their numbers have been increasing of late. It’s worrying, no doubt.”

Remus stood up abruptly, “Thank you for the tea and scones, Arabella. More importantly, thank you for watching over Harry.”

Mrs. Figg narrowed her eyes at Remus but smiled at him, “It’s nothing, the boy needs some looking after, Remus.” She stood up, “Will you be using the floo?”

Remus shook his head, “No, I’m going down to the Dursleys. It's probably best if I apparate somewhere near, I’d walk over, but I don’t want to risk being recognised,” he replied as he walked to the door.

A smile and a nod later and he was out of Arabella's house and walking towards Privet drive. He had the good sense to slip into a secluded corner shielded by foliage to transfigure his robes into muggle clothing. He still looked worn but at least he wasn't conspicuous. It occurred to him that maybe he should have a better plan that just grabbing Harry and escaping, but as rash decisions go, so went the plan. A shadow passing overhead brought him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see a raven fly past him and perch on a tree in someone's frontyard.

This unnerved Remus and the feeling that he should have been better prepared overcame him once again, after all in mythology raven's are normally associated with battle. It also didn't help that only one had appeared, _'One for bad news'_, he thought, referencing an old rhyme his grandmother had taught him when he was young. He looked up at the raven to find it picking at its wing with its beak turned away from Remus. Scolding himself for being so paranoid Remus increased his pace toward Number 4 Privet Drive, he did make sure he had his wand safely up his sleeve nonetheless.

The werewolf came up to the front of the house sensing old wards erected around it. He tilted his head back slightly and tried to catch the coppery scent of Dark Magic in the air to check if the wards had been tampered with. It wasn't conclusive, but he did catch the faint scent of magic, it wasn't a direct attack on the wards however, more like someone had tried to access the wards indirectly from another source. This did nothing to alleviate his unease and Remus moved forward past the loose wards and immaculate front garden to knock on the door.

Petunia Dursley's severe face peeked at him from the small space she'd cracked the door open to. She narrowed her eyes scornfully and tried to shut the door. Unfortunately for her, luckily for him, Remus was much stronger and he used that strength to force the door open wider noting that forced entry should have been impossible with the wards Dumbledore had alluded to.

"Hello Petunia," he greeted with a warm smile, "May I come in?" and with a discourtesy he normally avoided let himself into the home leaving Petunia to angrily shut the door behind him.

"Is Harry in?" Remus asked his eyes darting to the cupboard under the stairs half expecting Harry to open the small door and show himself. Luckily for the Dursleys they had finally let him have his own room, as spare as it was, Remus had only just managed to calm Moony's outrage at his cub's previous mistreatment.

He’d obviously done a terrible job concealing his anger as Petunia Dursley was now taking several faltering steps back. Building on her fear he let a bit more of Moony show on his face, he knew the moment his eyes had turned the wolf’s translucent amber when she pressed herself against the wall.

“Petunia,” he asked again his voice pleasant, “Harry, where is he?” Sighing at her silence he turned and went up the stairs making his way all the way up to Harry’s small room. Doing his best to ignore the multiple locks and bolts on his best friend’s godson’s door he cast a simple _Alohomora _charm and walked right in without knocking, a sense of urgency growing in the pit of his stomach alongside the earlier unease, promptly meeting the business end of Harry’s wand.

“Who are you?” Harry asked, his voice relatively calm considering the panic and shock in his green eyes.

“Harry, it’s me, Remus Lupin.” Raising his hands very slowly he continued to try and soothe the boy, “Calm down.”

“No you’re not. You’re eyes are different, which probably means you're under _Imperius _since the wolf is fighting you and besides, Remus would have warned me if he was coming.”

Remus smiled slightly but made sure to reign Moony back in so that his eyes returned to their normal hazel brown, “Harry, it’s me. I assure you werewolves are impervious to the _Imperius _curse, something to do with the caster having to control two different psyches. I didn’t warn you for the sake of safety.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, “What’s Moody’s catchphrase?”

“Constant vigilance.”

“That was easy, you’ve probably heard him say it when he worked as an Auror. What’s my patronus?”

“A stag.”

“Why?”

A painful smile on his face Remus answered, “Probably because it was your father’s, James’,” he added for more detail, “animagus form, named Prongs. He used it to go play with me and Padfoot when I was in my wolf for-.” He was cut off by an armful of half sobbing, half laughing teenager.

“Moony!”

Smiling into Harry’s messy hair, Remus returned the hearty embrace, “Hello, Harry. I’m presuming you now trust that it’s me.”

Harry stiffened in his arms and pulled away his cheeks pinking at his embarrassment, “Er, sorry about that. Constant vigilance!” he offered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“It’s quite alright.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you here? School doesn’t start for a while, and the Order normally has me send letters to them, are we going to Grim- headquarters?”

Remus shook his head and walked past Harry, his urgency returning, “Somewhere else.”

Harry perked up at the thought of not going back to his godfather’s house. “Somewhere else?” Letting a small hope form within him he asked, “Where?”

“I’ll explain when we get there.” Remus responded his voice curt.

“Oh. Okay.”

Remus paused in his task of looking for Harry’s trunk and turned back to Harry, “I’m sorry but I’m not quite sure I have the time to explain, it’s dangerous right now.”

Harry did not look appeased.

“Harry, please understand. I promise I’ll explain everything when we get there?”

“Everything?”

Remus nodded.

“Promise you won’t try to hide information because you’ll think I’m better off not knowing, because I’m not.”

“I promise, or I’ll try my best.”

Harry frowned at the qualifier so Remus continued, “You’ll have to forgive my desire to protect you, overcoming your need to know everything once in a while.” He turned away to look around the room. “Now just where is your school trunk? Accio Harry’s trunk!”

A scream, presumably from Petunia and loud thunking sounds came closer before the worn but sturdy trunk flew towards the werewolf barely missing Harry and stopping just inches from breaking Remus’ nose.

Taking a step back and letting it float to the ground Remus opened the trunk and started gathering all of Harry’s things into it a small frown forming as a floorboard came loose as a result of the second Accio he’d cast for Harry’s things.

He gave Harry fatherly a look that clearly said, _‘We’re talking about this later’_, he then closed the trunk and gave the small room a final look around to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. It saddened him that he hadn’t, most of Harry’s things had already been in the trunk when he’d summoned it and the rest came from under the loosened floorboard.

Harry watched all this a little worried about Remus finding out about his floorboard and his normally locked trunk. He trusted the man, more than the rest of the Order anyway, but it was still unnerving to have anyone else know the foul details of his muggle relatives' treatment of him.

“Alright Harry, anything else you need?”

A shake from the boy’s head, “Very well then, keep your wand with you, I’ll take your trunk,” he cast a feather-light spell on it, “Come on then, let’s say goodbye to your aunt.”

Harry snorted, “I doubt she’d care, at least not past the extent of glee at me leaving.”

Remus didn’t acknowledge his comment too busy trying to keep Moony calm at the mention of Petunia, and instead motioned Harry in front of him and out of the room.

Petunia must have recovered from her fear and heard them coming down because she walked past them to swing open the door, a sneer on her face, then it was as if everything happened in slow motion.

A green beam of light and her body flew forward and landed with a dull thud on the spotless floor. Harry couldn’t hear Remus’ shouts as his mind was quickly transported back to the graveyard in fourth year. He could almost smell the dank moist heavy scent of death; see Cedric looking around in wonder right before the light in his eyes went out with a burst of green.

He was brought out of his dark reverie with Remus slamming him against the wall to push him out of a curse’s way and a loud bang as the werewolf spelled the door shut and warded it. Unfortunately his gaze went to his aunt’s dead body, her eyes still hateful and the sneer pasted on her face, even in death.

Remus warded the door with as many spells as he knew, including blocking all apparition into the house. He turned back to face Harry just in time to watch the boy slide down the wall with a wrenching scream as his scar started to bleed.

“Harry! HARRY!!”

Getting no response from the boy he picked him up stumbling as his magic tried to compensate for the weakening wards being dismantled by what he now presumed were Deatheaters. Sensing the wards about to give in Remus cast his most powerful shield to act as a second wall between them and the door, it wasn’t much but it might give them some extra time. He spelled the trunk to follow him as he ran into the kitchen going for the backdoor. A loud explosion signalled that the wards he had cast on the house had been broken, unfortunately, however, the apparition ward also held and he couldn’t get out immediately. Speeding up as much as he could carrying a teenage boy and his magic almost spent, Remus cast a _Reducto _on the back door ignoring the splinters of wood and shards of glass piercing his skin. He dove for the ground a brush of magic signalling he was out of the wards’ range; a groan from Harry went unnoticed as he gathered the last of his strength and disappeared with a pop.

Harry fought the onslaught of pain, and forced his eyes open just as Remus crashed to the ground. The last thing Harry saw before they apparated out was Voldemort stepping over his aunt’s lifeless body and sending the killing curse his way.


	5. Negotiation

It was the smell that got you first. The first thing that let you know you were near Azkaban. The scent of death and piss was like a slap in the morning; if nothing else got your attention, the smell reminded you where you were.

Well that and the nauseating boat trip across murky choppy waters to get to the island. Apparition was disabled on the island, any hope of escape meant having someone on the inside to lower the wards, or swimming across to the mainland, a guaranteed death for any human being.

Finally the rickety boat, if you could even deign to call it a boat, reached the island shore. Mustering up all the Malfoy dignity he could, Draco managed to exit the vessel and stand up steadily on two feet. All the while resisting the urge to drop to his knees, kiss the ground and scream, _‘Land!’_

A large man in tattered robes met him and acknowledged him with an oafish grunt; his big head precariously tilting in the prison’s direction, a gesture Draco took as an indication to follow him.

They reached the entrance to the prison, and if it was possible, the smell got worse, so heavy you could taste it. A table was set up to the side and the man leading Draco went inside and hit the table twice. Draco seriously wondered whether the man was capable of speech when he did nothing but grunt at Draco’s look of incomprehension at his gesture.

“He wants you to take your outer cloak off so that he can search it for concealed weapons.”

Draco turned to face a man who could only be described as oily. “And you are?” Draco asked an imperious sneer on his face.

The man smiled revealing brown crooked teeth that made him look like a deranged oily rat. “I am Marcus Wells, Azkaban’s Head Warden.” He spread his arms wide as if revealing a prize, “Welcome, Lord Malfoy, we’ve been expecting you. Mr. Dobbs informed us of your arrival.” The warden dismissed the guard at the table, “Come right this way, my Lord, I trust your journey was without trouble?”

“Satisfactory.”

Without another word the warden led him down the halls of Azkaban; Draco was grateful for his silence. They must have taken a back route because Draco saw none of the other prisoners in their cells, he’d expected grimy hardened criminals pounding and leering through the prison bars, again he was grateful to Wells for anticipating his preferences; as he should for the amount of money paid for the private visit. Wells opened a door at the end of the narrow hall and directed Draco in with a hand. Draco strode in proudly, back straight with no hesitation- if he was to face his father as the new Lord Malfoy, he might as well act like it.

The door closed behind him, but the blond took no notice, his attention focused on the figure sitting at the table, head bowed, shoulders low and hunched. Draco walked further into the room, his shoes clicking loudly on the cement floor, echoing through the otherwise empty room. It was hard to believe that this figure of a broken man was his father. The arms stretched out on the table were thin, bony, the hands gnarled with black-edged ragged fingernails. His frame looked frail inside the tattered robes, with his head bowed Draco couldn’t see his father’s face, but the once proud head was hardly crowned with the luxurious mane of hair that was a Malfoy signature; instead Lucius’ hair was matted and knotted, looked grey more than blond and seemed not to have been washed in years, rather than the months he’d been imprisoned. Obviously Azkaban did not agree with Lucius Malfoy.

Draco forced himself out of his shock and moved forward to take the only other seat in the room, facing his father. Under normal circumstances, Draco would keep silent and wait for the older Malfoy to speak as a sign of respect. This was not a normal circumstance.

"Father."

A raspy laugh acknowledged him, shocking Draco momentarily as there had never been any quality of Lucius Malfoy that one could ever call 'raspy'.

"Son," Lucius raised his head and glared at his progeny, "Or would you prefer I call _you _'Father'."

Draco smirked, for all outward appearances his father remained unbroken and the pure anger in his eyes exemplified that. Now that he could see Lucius' face, Draco noted that while lined, gaunt and hollowed, the proud set of his mouth and the deadliness of his gaze had not faded an iota in the time spent in Azkaban.

"Would you prefer I call you Lucius, Father?" Draco's smirk grew malicious, "It is well within my right to demand you refer to me as your lord."

"Idiot child, for all your bluster you've mastered nothing." Lucius leaned back in his chair.

Draco felt a pang deep in his chest knowing that it would take years of practice and experience before he ever mastered the unquestionable dignity his father exuded even in squalor and disgrace. But for now, he could pull the cloak of the title, Lord Malfoy, around him and fake it as best he could.

"You have your opinion, I have the titles. I wonder who holds the power between us, hmm?"

Lucius gave his son a bitter smile, "What do you want, Draco? You can't possibly shame me further than you already have, you can't want something from me- you've taken it all- so what is it, you've bled me dry, you insolent brat, what more could you possibly want?"

Draco leaned back in his chair, mimicking his father's posture, "To give you a choice."

A cold laugh erupted uncontrolled from Lucius' throat, it chilled Draco and made him feel twelve again; but ignoring his insecurities he went on. "Your loyalties have long compromised the well-being of the Family; you need to make a choice, Father. The Malfoy name and legacy, or Voldemor-"

At the mention of the Dark Lord's name Lucius stood abruptly pushing his chair back so hard it fell to the floor. He leaned forward on the table inches from Draco's face, "How dare you speak his name, you insipid child!"

Doing his best not to gag at Lucius' acrid breath, Draco closed his eyes and opened them slowly forcing himself not to lean back, "This is exactly what I mean. You still demand respect for him when he's the reason you're here, it's pathetic." Drawing on anger Draco pushed back his father with one gloved hand, "Now sit back down and listen to your options."

Lucius glared at his son and considered baring his teeth. Deciding against that indignity, he leaned back and picked up his chair, sitting down as if on a throne. "Very well, my _lord_, continue." He waved his hand in mocking deference to the other blond, his face shut down and cold.

Choosing to ignore his father's theatrics, Draco continued, "Side with Voldemort and rot in Azkaban, choose your family, breaking all ties with Voldemort, publicly denouncing him and his followers, and I'll have you released and at the Manor." He smirked, "And if it's worth anything, a guaranteed shower; or bath if you prefer."

"The Dark Lord will have your head, in the most painful way he can devise, Draco. You're a boy, he's the most powerful wizard of our time; you have no chance."

Draco raised an eyebrow, "Really, well then explain why a toddler disposed of him years back, with his own curse. Then there's the repeated foiling of plans that Potter, while incredibly annoying, makes sure of every year. Word is, he's weakened from his last encounter with that same _boy_, and he's the most powerful wizard you know of? Come now Father, logic is still available to you if you would but just use it."

A glimmer of anger broke through Lucius' mask, Draco smiled in triumph, few men could get to his father like this and live.

"Make your choice Father, I don't have all day."

"Exactly how are you planning to escape the Dark Lord's wrath, Draco? With Severus' help, I presume." At Draco's frown Lucius smirked, "Don't tell me you didn't know that your esteemed godfather is nothing but a traitor. And now you ask me to join that rank? If I stay here, the Dark Lord will free me soon enough and I'll go back to my position of power. I go with you, I die, for aiding traitors and for being one. Not exactly prime choices on your side Draco."

"I wouldn't make assumptions on what I do or do not know, if I were you Father." Draco leaned in, "You and I both know that your position as the Dark Lord's right hand is just a step up from the crawling and begging other Death Eaters do, not to mention the fact that even if he does free you, he'll find a way to humiliate you further for failing him."

"Nothing more than you've already done, my son."

Draco exhaled sharply through his nose, "Tick tock, Father. I'll have Dobbs come get your response," he stood up gracefully, "I'll need to know whether to have you disowned and marked off the family tree." He turned to leave but not before he gave a slow mocking bow to the former Lord Malfoy, "Good day, Lucius."

-

Harry blinked himself awake, eyes stinging from the bright sunlight. A groan escaped unbidden as he tried to lift his head to check his surroundings, the sharp pain letting him know that it was probably not a good a idea to try and fight gravity at the moment.

He felt a hand rest lightly on his head and push his hair back wincing as the fingers brushed across his scar, still painfully sore.

He must have registered the pain on his face because a voice apologised with a soft, "Sorry."

Some vague part of his brain recognized that it was Remus talking to him and that he was safe and had no reason to try and force himself upright and awake; the rest of his brain just sighed in relief. Harry lay back and closed his eyes tightly to block out the sharp light, his muscles relaxing quite blissfully in contrast to the pain.

He tried opening his eyes once more, Remus' blurry outline solidifying but not clearing out completely. He must be without his glasses, the why and how that must have happened coming back to him in painful pieces that made his scar twinge.

He settled for closing his eyes again, sighing in relief when some of the dull ache subsided, and just concentrated on his breathing.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Forcing himself not to bring up a particular memory Harry responded with a hoarse, "Voldemort." He tried not to wince at the gravelly tone of voice but again his face must have betrayed him because Remus put an arm around him and helped him lean against a pile of pillows before helping him to a glass of water.

It was all Harry could do to avoid pouting at the childish treatment, acknowledging that it may have the exact opposite effect. Then again it wasn't exactly a common occurrence for him to be taken care of like this, might as well enjoy it instead of letting it irk him.

Remus gave a hum of agreement the frown on his forehead deepening for a moment before smoothing out when he smiled softly.

"You should get some more rest." He ruffled Harry's hair affectionately before closing the curtains to ease Harry's eyes.

Ignoring the return of irritation at being treated like an eight year old with the flu, Harry forced himself to be at least thankful, after all it seems that the man had saved his life. "Remus?"

"Yes, Harry," the werewolf answered a hand on the doorknob.

"Thanks. I mean if you hadn't-"

Remus raised the other hand cutting Harry off, "It was no problem. Now get some rest, I laced the water with a mild sedative, it should ease the headache and get you to sleep."

A part of Harry knew he should be mad at Remus for not telling him about the sedative, another part was struggling to figure out why Remus _had _to come and save him from the Dursleys; but mostly, he just wanted to sleep.

He responded, but he was sure that it sounded like a mad person's mumblings. Remus just smiled, glad to see Harry finally relaxed, his frown returning at the thought of having to use a potion to get the boy calm enough to sleep peacefully.

Yet another thing to speak to Dumbledore about.

-

"I'm not going back, Headmaster."

He'd woken up to another morning, at least he figured it must have been morning as the sunlight had trying its damnedest to get through the thick drapes. After making sure that his body wouldn't instantly rebel at the thought of him moving from anything but a prone position, he'd left his room to look for found him in what looked to be a living room talking to Dumbledore in mild but tight tones.

True to his Gryffindor side, he'd jumped in, and this was where they were.

"I'm not asking you to go back to the Dursleys Harry-"

"Well of course you aren't asking me to go back to them, they're dead. I meant that I wasn't going back to any other place you'd like to stick me."

"Harry, think carefully. The Wea-"

"The Weasleys are safer without me!"

Remus frowned at him, "Harry."

Sighing at the werewolf's insistence on respect Harry continued, forcing his voice level, "Honestly, sir, where do you think Voldemort will look first?"

Remus intervened in his favor, "Harry's got a point, Albus." Harry gave the man a smile for his support which was returned in kind. "At least here he's safe, and no one will know of this location."

"Even you didn't know where I was until Remus contacted you." Harry offered.

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment before he continued, "Yes, he is safe now." He focused hard blue eyes on Harry, "But for how long? Wills aren't exactly easy to hide and Bellatrix will be trying to gain access to the family fortunes, Grimmauld Place in particular, now that Sirius is dead."

Harry hid a wince and ignored the stab of pain as the Headmaster continued, "There's no guarantee that she wouldn't know of this particular property, and blood wards wouldn't work against her. Those aren't even all the dangers of staying here, Harry."

"You mean my condition, Albus?" Remus asked, his voice quiet.

"Remu-"

"I don't care that Remus is a werewolf, get Snape to make Wolfsbane for him again. I don't care, I'm not leaving."

"Harry, he can't force Severus to do that. It wouldn't be fair."

"Don't talk to me about fair, Remus!"

Remus looked at him again causing Harry to sigh and mumble a quick, "Sorry."

Dumbledore sat back in the armchair watching the exchange, a hint of a twinkle returning to his eyes, "I doubt Severus would mind too much if I asked him, Remus. You and Harry have presented quite the situation. Though there's still the matter of the Black properties being accessible to Bellatrix."

Remus hummed in thought, "Perhaps if we locked her out of the Will, the magic would have to respect that. Then maybe we could try a Fidelius."

Harry snorted, "Because we've got such a great record of that where I'm concerned." He turned away facing a window to avoid what was sure to be another look from Remus.

Dumbledore carried on, ignoring the interjection, "It would be hard to do, seeing as blood magic is one of the strongest ancient magicks." He got up suddenly, much quicker than a man his age should. "Well, I'm sure the Black libraries here have some great books on the subject of wards, and you've always been an especially talented warder, Remus. Do you mind if I send young Bill here? No, well good. I'll get him the floo address, not to worry I'll swear him to secrecy - even to his family, then we'll go about securing the area."

He bustled to the floo and with a last smile, his eyes brighter, disappeared in the blaze of green flames leaving the somewhat flummoxed pair alone in the room.

Harry narrowed his eyes, "Did we just..."

Remus cleared his throat, his tone careful as he answered, "Yes, well it seems we did. Though with Albus that can mean different things." He turned to Harry, a relieved smile on his face, "I'm not going to complain too much, yet, with Albus on what seems to be our side, we'll be sure to avoid any major issues."

"Like the MLE accusing you of kidnapping their so-called saviour?"

Remus gave a sheepish smile, "Well, yes, quite like that." Turning to walk out of the room he called back, "You must be famished, Harry. Come, you may as well learn where the kitchen is located, it's a bit of a maze in here. We'll talk as we eat"

Harry's stomach gave an affirmative growl in assent to the idea as he followed the werewolf out and he tried not to worry too much about his current situation.


End file.
